


honey, i'm put in awe of something so flawed and free

by foolish-quentin (queenradi)



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 13:56:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18152729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenradi/pseuds/foolish-quentin
Summary: margo has never had trouble seducing anyone before, but fen presents a new challenge. she makes margo nervous. margo isn't used to that feeling.





	honey, i'm put in awe of something so flawed and free

**Author's Note:**

> title from honorary lesbian hozier's "movement"
> 
> is fen out of character in this? maybe so. do i care? not one bit. this is porn. this is self-indulgent porn. i wanted to fix up the ending but then i remembered that i did this for free. 
> 
> shoutout to my gf and the gc. they're real mvps.

Margo has had a lot of sex. She’s fucked a lot of people. She’s fucked men, fucked women, got fucked by both, sucked dick, eaten pussy, gotten her pussy eaten while sucking dick, been in the center of an orgy, been on the outskirts of an orgy, fucked while high and drunk and sober, done every single combination of all of the above possible. She knows what she’s doing, and she has never had any trouble getting someone into her pants.

            Until Fen.

            It’s not that Margo isn’t trying to get Fen into her pants and into Fen’s pants. Margo really wants to. Like, _really_ wants to. And she knows, on some level, that Fen would probably say yes to her. Fen is great like that.

            But… Margo doesn’t know how to do it. She doesn’t know how to seduce Fen.

            Which is so unbelievably fucking stupid. Margo could seduce a fucking rock if she wanted to. She’s hot, she’s smart, she’s flexible, she’s the _motherfucking High King of Fillory_ —so why the ever-loving _fuck_ can’t she seduce Fen?

            “I’m so stupid around her,” Margo hisses to Eliot, the two of them slinking down some narrow castle hallway after a political meeting, Margo’s heels clicking on the stone, her wonderful gauzy dress whispering behind her. Eliot smells like oranges and magic. He’s holding her hand and rolling his eyes every three seconds. “I’m serious, Eliot, she makes me act like a certified moron. Like when Quentin is around you. I can’t speak full sentences. I can’t look her in the eye.”

            “I didn’t think that was even possible for you,” Eliot laughs.

            “Shut the hell up.”

            “Do you think maybe you can’t talk to her because you actually like her?”

            Margo scoffs. “That shouldn’t affect—”

            “Of course it affects.”

            “I am a _king_.”

            Eliot stops, his grip on her hand yanking her to a halt, and when she’s facing him he kisses her on the forehead. “Yes, and you’re a very good king.” He says it soft, gentle, and if it was any other person in the universe Margo would slice off their dick/clit and call it revenge. But it’s Eliot. She lets him get away with minimal damage.

            “I just want to fuck her,” Margo whines. She leans forward and bumps her forehead on his chest.

            “I know you do.” Eliot pats her crown. “She’s very good. Gentle. Enthusiastic.”

            “You’re not helping.”

            “Best pussy I’ve ever had.”

            Margo is about to snap back with, “Only pussy you’ve ever had,” and then she remembers that he’s slept with _her_ and is about to be seriously offended.

            Eliot cuts in with, “I didn’t touch yours it doesn’t count.”

            Margo laughs. “I’ll let it slide.”

            How strange, she thinks, that they were so close and yet that memory is so distant. She’s pretty sure she sucked Eliot’s dick, but the uncertainty doesn’t even bother her.

            “You won’t mind?” she asks. “If I fuck your wife?”

            “Ex-wife.” Eliot starts them walking again. “And of course not. Why would I mind? I care more about you getting pussy than… anything in the world.”

            Margo cackles. What a wonderful and perfect truth.

 

It’s been about two months since Margo first started trying to flirt with Fen, and Fen is starting to get annoyed. At first it was cute; High King Margo the Destroyer, fumbling and blushing and giggling when it was just her and Lady Fen Advisor the Crown. Fen had never been so endeared, not even to Eliot’s shenanigans.

            Now, though, after _two months_ of Margo being bashful and shy and never getting to the damn point—the point that is “please, Fen, please fuck me stupid”—Fen is losing patience. Her plan was to wait Margo out, let her come to Fen, let her crawl through whatever is making her such a nervous mess. Let her arrive in Fen’s bed utterly desperate and gagging for it. But Margo hasn’t arrived. Hasn’t even gotten close. Fen is going to have to take matters into her own hands.

            It starts on a Thursday, midmorning, and Fen comes out of her quarters in a wonderful scarlet number that she’d had specially made to wrap around her body in all the mean, tight ways she knows drive Margo nuts. She does her hair, too, in loose curls and flowery perfume, wears her slight golden crown that Eliot had made for her when they married. It’s a little token of good luck Fen wears when she needs it, a reminder that she can outlast anything. Even Margo’s inability to get her shit together and her panties off.

            Fen finds Tick.

            “I need you,” she says, “To cancel King Margo’s meetings until tomorrow and clear out the throne room.”

            Tick stares at her, wide eyed. “Excuse me?”

            “I need you,” Fen says again, slower, “To cancel. The King’s. Meetings. Today.”

            “Yes, My Lady—”

            “And clear out the throne room.”

            “Yes, My Lady.” Tick bows a bit. “Why?”

            “Shut up,” Fen snaps. In her head, she yells, _I haven’t had an orgasm in six months and you, Tick Pickwick, are not going to be the gods-damned reason I have to wait another second to cum with Margo’s hands down my pants. Fuck you. Go sit on a cactus._

            Tick scuttles off, and Fen goes to hunt down a bunny.

 

One of the very first things Eliot and Margo did when they were crowned in Fillory was renovate the throne room. After the curse debacle, and before they really worried about much else in Fillory, they renovated the throne room. They brought in lounge chairs and cushions and fireplaces and tiny tables for snacks and wine and, most extravagantly, a massive bed set in the floor and surrounded by gauzy curtains and burning basins of sweet-smelling oil. They’d mostly used it for naps, but Fen knew that every once in a while Margo made out with an unsuspecting courtier when she was bored.

            While she waits for the bunny to pop back and tell her Margo is on her way, Fen fusses over the marvelous bed. She kicks cushions around, straightens the blankets, arranges the curtains just so. Her heart flutters the whole time; she’s taking matters into her own hands with Margo. She’s kickstarting this—whatever it is between them.

            Fen has never kickstarted anything, before.

            It’s thrilling.

            With a gentle _pop_ , the black and white bunny reappears in the throne room and groans, “On my way.” It _pop_ s away again, and blood rushes through Fen’s ears.

            Before she can second guess herself, Fen sits down in Margo’s throne and arranges her scarlet cloths around herself, crosses her legs, uncrosses them, crosses them again and lounges back and… waits.

            She hasn’t had this much confidence in herself since she was sixteen and making knives.

            The doors to the throne room swing open, and standing in the doorway is High King Margo the Destroyer, and she looks nervous.

            Fen smiles. This is going to be fun.

 

“Uh,” Margo says, stomach bottoming out, mouth going dry, legs going weak, _between_ her legs going hot. “Fen?”

            “Hi,” Fen says, casual as anything, like she’s not stretched out in Margo’s throne like a cat, smirking, drop-dead gorgeous and unfairly hot. “Glad you could make it.”

            “Fen, I—” Margo lets the doors slam behind her. She takes a step forward and almost falls flat on her face. For the first time in her life, she feels unsteady, off balance, like if she moves too fast the weight of her crown or the height of her heels is going to send her tumbling to the floor.

            “Your Majesty,” Fen says, low and soft and with a glint in her eyes. Margo nearly falls over.

            “What—what are you doing in my chair?”

            “Waiting.”

            “Is that all?” Margo finds it in herself to step forward, to cross the room until she’s at the bottom of the dais and at eye level with Fen.

            “That’s all.” Fen smiles at her and taps her nails on the arm of the throne.

            Margo licks her lips. This is the Fen she’s been desperate for, for so long. This Fen, the woman who rarely comes out to play in the presence of courtiers and politicians and anyone who isn’t Margo or Eliot. Fen with a soul made of iron, Fen who clawed her way out of the fairy realm, Fen who lead a kingdom when Margo and Eliot disappeared. This Fen, sitting in Margo’s throne like she belongs there.

            Because, really, she does.

            Without thinking, Margo takes another step forward and lets her knees buckle, until she’s kneeling at Fen’s feet and peering up at her, heart in her throat, stomach roiling.

            “Hey there,” Fen whispers. “I told you, I’ve been waiting.” She leans forward, uncrosses her legs, brushes the back of her knuckles against Margo’s cheek. Margo exhales, shaking. Fen smells like roses and cherry wine. Her fingers are so soft and warm.

            “What, for this?” Margo breathes. She aches to touch back, to run her hand up Fen’s leg and the inside of her thigh and—

            “Exactly this.” Fen’s hand moves up to Margo’s hair. Her fingers hook in the crown, lift it off Margo’s head. The removal of that weight, the pressure around her forehead and temples—watching Fen lift it away and set it down on the table by the throne, like it’s nothing more than a chunk of metal, like it doesn’t symbolize all the power Margo holds over Fillory—being uncrowned has been Margo’s greatest fear, but now she feels like she can breathe.

            “You’re very beautiful, Margo,” Fen says. Her hands cup Margo’s face and her hair falls around them in honey-colored curtains. “And you’re especially beautiful when you’re flirting and flustered. But…” She smiles, and she’s been smiling this whole time except now it’s a little mischievous and Margo thinks maybe she’s screwed— “I’ve gotten very, _very_ impatient.”

            Before Margo can speak, before she can even catch her damned breath, Fen is leaning down and swooping in and kissing Margo—kissing her stupid, kissing her senseless, fisting her hand in Margo’s hair and tilting her face up and kissing her so hard their teeth knock together and Margo’s knees slip on the tiled floor.

            “Fuck,” Margo gasps, when Fen leans away, and then she says it again when Fen pulls her up and into her lap.

            They’re clumsy, for a second, but experience kicks in and Margo straddles her easily and settles onto her thighs and wraps her arms around Fen’s neck, goes right back to kissing her like she’s wanted to so badly for so long.

            Margo hadn’t expected Fen to be this good at kissing, which was a huge underestimation on her part. Fen kisses like she has something to prove and she knows she’s already proved it. She forces Margo’s mouth open, sucks on her tongue and licks her teeth and bites her lip, backs up to breathe and then dives right back in before Margo can wrap her head around what’s happening.

            “Sorry I made you wait so long,” Margo giggles.

            “You should be sorry,” Fen growls, and Margo knows it’s a joke but she gasps anyway.

            “Oh,” Fen says, grinning. “My King, is that what you like?”

            “No,” Margo snaps, because it isn’t. But Fen’s in her throne, and minutes ago Margo was _kneeling_ in front of her. She sighs and whispers, “Maybe.”

            “Sweetheart,” Fen murmurs. “What do you want, Margo?”

            Normally, Margo would be running her mouth and unwilling to shut up. But something about Fen makes her quiet, makes her timid, so instead of sweet-talking and detailing all the dirty stuff she wants to do, Margo slides off Fen’s lap, back onto the floor, kneeling between her legs, and presses her mouth to the side of Fen’s clothed knee.

            “Oh,” Fen says, leaning back in the throne, eyes heavy-lidded, licking her lips. “Go ahead, my King.”

            God, it’s just not fucking _fair_ , that she can be so hot and so cruel. But two can play at this game, so Margo scratches her nails up Fen’s clothed thighs and bites the side of her knee, just to make her twitch and laugh.

            “You could have said something,” Margo whispers. “Instead of letting me act like an idiot.”

            “Where’s the fun in that?”

            “We could have been doing _this_ —” Margo slides her hands around and down, lifts Fen’s hips and squeezes her ass. “A lot sooner.”

            Fen sighs and starts undoing the hooks and buttons on her pants. “That may be true, but I think all the waiting made you desperate. I could do anything to you and you’d just take it, huh?”

            “Fuck,” Margo groans. She pulls on Fen’s pants, tugs and tugs until they’re around her ankles, licks up her thighs, revels in the soft skin and fine hair and the taste of soap and sweat— it’s only been a couple of seconds and Fen is trembling, her thighs lifting to up and around Margo’s shoulders. Her hands fist in Margo’s hair and pull, tug, yank Margo closer to her pussy.

            “I knew you’d be good at this,” Fen gasps.

            Margo groans and pushes up more on her knees, pulls Fen’s hips closer, sucks kisses high up on the insides of her thighs. She hasn’t done this in a while, hasn’t gotten between a girl’s legs and just _gone to fucking town_ , and she’s missed it so much. That it’s Fen is just icing on the cake, a spectacular treat, a _goddamn blessing_ , and Fen was right, they’ve waited long enough.

            Margo’s knees are already a little sore, but she could not care less. Fen’s warm, already wet, her breath catching and stomach trembling. Margo drags her mouth close, licks where her thigh meets her hip, soaks up the tiny little moan and shift closer. Margo can feel her own heartbeat in her clit. She wants to touch, wants to feel the heat and pressure, but making Fen cum is more of a priority.

            “Get to it, Your Majesty,” Fen groans, bossy and hot and her nails digging into Margo’s scalp.

            Grinning, Margo licks the pad of her thumb and drags it in a slow circle over Fen’s clit. She gasps, twitches, clenches her thighs, so Margo presses a little harder and then uses her tongue. She licks over Fen’s cunt, tastes the warmth and the salt, touches her clit enough to keep her shaking.

            “Mar _go_ ,” Fen gasps. “Margo Margo Margo—”

            The world could end, again, and Margo wouldn’t give a single flying fuck.

            “Fingers,” Fen says. “Please, Margo, come on—”

            Never one to disappoint, Margo sucks two of her fingers into her mouth, peering up at Fen through her eyelashes. Fen’s blushing, her hair a mess, chewing on her bottom lip. She smirks down at Margo.

            “You’re so good,” she whispers.

            Something slams the inside of Margo’s chest. Her breath catches around her fingers, so she pulls them out and goes back to touching Fen, goes back to licking and sucking at her clit and slides one finger in, slow and sure, reveling in the clench of heat and wetness. Fen shakes, groans, rocks down on Margo’s face and hand.

            When Margo hooks her finger just right, Fen’s whole body tightens like a bowstring, taut and trembling, so Margo pushes harder. Fen whines. Margo rocks her hips against nothing, her cunt hot and wet, desperate to be touched. She keeps fucking Fen, licking over her and sliding another finger into her and fucking her hard and slow just to hear the noises she makes and feel the way her body shakes.

            “Gods,” Fen cries. “Gods, Margo—” Her grip on Margo’s hair tightens. Margo groans against her, shoves closer. “I’m gonna—” Her hand flies to Margo’s wrist, grabs and holds her fingers deep inside her. Fen grinds down on her hand, shaking, hips jerking erratically, and Margo keeps sucking on her clit like her life depends on it.

            Fen gasps and cries out, her hips canting up, and then her whole body goes lax. Margo pulls away slowly, kissing her pussy, pulling her fingers out and then sucking them clean. Fen watches, gasping, flushed and sultry.

            “You’re incredible,” she breathes.

            Margo preens. She’s still kneeling on the floor, between Fen’s legs, but who cares. She made Fen cum. Margo can’t resist leaning in and licking her clit one more time, just to make her twitch.

            “Get up here,” Fen laughs. She grabs the back of Margo’s neck and pulls her up. Her hands go right to Margo’s pants, bypassing the buttons and ties to rub her through the fabric.

            “Fuck,” Margo groans. She’s straddling Fen again, legs open and in the perfect position to just rock down on Fen’s hand and chase the pressure and friction she wants so bad. “Touch me,” she begs. “Come on, Fen, please, just—”

            “You can cum from this,” Fen says. Like it’s an order. Like Margo can’t argue.

            To be fair, she can’t. Fen’s pressing right on her clit, rubbing rough circles, and Margo is soaking the fabric of her panties and her trousers in no time. She rides Fen’s fingers, whining and twitching, trying to chase a pattern of sensation that feels more substantial than what she’s getting, but Fen is being mean.

            “You’re being mean,” Margo tells her.

            Fen bites her neck. Margo whines and shudders and her cunt twitches. “I know, and you like it. You like that I’m not going to fuck you for real, just yet.”

            “Oh holy hell,” Margo hisses. Her hips buck, grinding down hard and fast. Every inch of her body is burning, is aching for more of Fen’s touch. Margo presses her mouth against Fen’s neck and tries to kiss, tries to do anything other than gasp and whine against her sweet-smelling skin, but—

            “Fen,” Margo whines. “Fen please—”

            “Please what?” Fen bites her again.

            “ _Fuck_ —” Margo cums hard and sudden. She cries out, shaking, twitching, and Fen wraps her arms around her waist and kisses her roughly.

            “Okay?” Fen murmurs, when Margo can finally breathe again.

            “Fuck,” Margo says. “You’re something else, Lady Fen.”

            Smirking and gorgeous, Fen says, “Get yourself on that bed and I can show you what else I can do.”

            Margo nearly topples off of her in her embarrassing haste to follow orders.


End file.
